


A Kiss Like Quiet Thunder

by DarylDixonGrimes



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Top!Jesus, bottom!daryl, casual blasphemy, darus - Freeform, daryl being very cute when he's annoyed and paul noticing, holycross, jeryl, paul rovia is serious about some legit consent y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 00:11:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6351097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarylDixonGrimes/pseuds/DarylDixonGrimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Daryl was, to put it mildly, just a little irritable. And irritated, for that matter. He couldn't believe Rick had even asked him to go on this run with <i>him</i>, and the longer he and Jesus were out on the road, just the two of them, the more Daryl wanted to reach over and wring his neck just a little. tiny. bit." </p>
<p>Wherein Daryl is pissed that he has to hang out with Jesus, Jesus pushes Daryl's buttons because he thinks his reactions are cute, and Daryl realizes there's a fine line between lust and hate. </p>
<p>A prompt fill using the quotes: <br/>“Do you think you could just please go one day without pissing me off?” <br/>“Is it possible to love too much?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kiss Like Quiet Thunder

Daryl was, to put it mildly, just a little irritable. And irritated, for that matter. He couldn't believe Rick had even asked him to go on this run with _him,_ and the longer he and Jesus were out on the road, just the two of them, the more Daryl wanted to reach over and wring his neck just a little. tiny. bit.   
  
“Turn that shit off,” Daryl said. Paul had taken it upon himself to blast a _Greatest Pop Hits of the 90s_ CD the entire time they'd been out, and was in the middle of singing along to Britney Spears at the top of his lungs. Daryl had a feeling he didn't even like the music. He just wanted to get on Daryl's every last damn nerve. And he hated that he was giving the fucker the satisfaction, but if he had to hear another rendition of “Bye Bye Bye” (which he knew was coming up next given that this was the fourth play-through of the CD), he was going to drive the damn SUV into a tree. 

“Alright, alright.” Jesus hit the eject button. Daryl grabbed the CD from his hand and promptly threw it out the window. Side-eying him, Paul shook his head and focused on the map spread across his thighs. “From the looks of it, we're almost there anyway.”   
  
The run was meant to be a joint effort between Hilltop and Alexandria. Both places were running low after the war, and it seemed like a good idea for a couple of the best players between their two communities to team up and split the haul.   
  
“How far?” Daryl asked, absorbing the almost blissful quiet that had descended in the absence of the CD from hell.   
  
“A mile or so. Maybe they'll even have some CDs.”   
  
“Look,” Daryl said. “I don't really wanna be out here with you, but someone's gotta be. So do you think you could just please go one day without pissin me off?”   
  
“I considered it,” Jesus said.   
  
“You _considered_ it?”   
  
“Should be coming up on your left.”   
  
Sure enough, there it was. A big blue sign for a Super Wal-Mart right next to a tiny strip of businesses advertising a Sally's Beauty Supply and a Subway. They'd hit those too if they happened to have time or space for anything else. Daryl maneuvered the Tahoe through a parking lot of abandoned vehicles and parked right in the doorway, snatching up his bow.   
  
“You get me killed in there, I'll haunt your ass.”   
  
“Oh ye of little faith,” Jesus said, covering his face with his bandanna.   
  
“Go screw yourself.”   
“Why would I do that when you're gonna do it for me?”   
  
Daryl growled, pounding on the glass of the doors and waiting. There was no way to know what could be in a store of that size, and he had no idea how long he needed to wait before he could be sure, completely sure, that any walkers inside had heard him.   
  
“Once a minute for five minutes?” Jesus offered, seemingly understanding his dilemma without him saying anything, which somehow made Daryl prickle more against all rationality. Daryl nodded, but he wasn't happy about it.   
  
By the end of five minutes, there were a dozen or so walkers piled against the front door, nothing either of them couldn't have handled on their own so long as they let them funnel out. Which was exactly what they did, cracking the doors just enough for one body at a time to squeeze through, some of them so far gone that they ripped off their own flesh on their way out.   
  
When they were done, Daryl shined his flashlight into the dark depths of the building. Every Wal-Mart he'd ever been in liked to switch up what sides of the store shit was on. He knew enough from the jumble of letters over the door to know they were heading in on the grocery side, which meant the other side was home/pharmacy. But from there he had no idea where jack shit was.   
  
“I think we should find a store map first,” Jesus said. Daryl bristled again. How the fuck?   
  
“Mhm.”   
  
They found one tacked up at the front of the store and ripped it off the wall, spreading it out across the customer service desk.   
  
“I say we take our time,” Jesus said. “Grab a couple shopping carts and hit the grocery section, grab whatever's left there. Bring them back up front.”   
  
“Hit the most important sections first,” Daryl said, because he'd be damned if he was going to let Paul fucking Rovia make all the damn plans. “Pharmacy next.”   
  
“Paint and Auto.”   
  
“Paint?”   
  
“That's where superglue and duct tape are.”   
  
“Mm. Baby clothes. Judith's growin like a weed. May as well stock up on formula and shit too so Glenn and Maggie don't have to worry for a while once their little one gets here.”   
  
“Socks and shoes. We always go through those fast.”   
  
Daryl paused, determined to win this even though he wasn't even sure they were competing.   
  
“Garden section,” Daryl said. “Seeds and fertilizer. Need to hit the camping section too, and anywhere with lighters and matches.”   
  
“Anything we can carry that seems useful,” Jesus said. “And anything else after that. I'm sure Judith would like some toys.”   
  
Daryl nodded.   
  
“We'll hide any good shit we can't take and hopefully it'll still be here tomorrow.”   
  
“Let's get to it then.”   
  
They grabbed shopping carts and went aisle by aisle, row by row. It was like one of those segments on the news around Christmas that Daryl had always gotten jealous of—the timed shopping spree where the kid got to keep everything they put in their cart. Except he and Jesus were systematic, going row by row and assessing whether or not the thing they grabbed actually had any value in the new world.   
  
After they put their second round up front, two carts bulging with canned goods and dry goods, Jesus turned back to the store, opening his arms to his and sighing before looking at Daryl with impossible blue eyes that somehow glittered even under his flashlight.   
  
“Is it possible to love too much?”   
  
Daryl grabbed another cart and started the third round without answering.   
  
By the time they made it to the pharmacy section—their last target—they had four carts each, both of them struggling to tuck bottles of aspirin and boxes of bandages in wherever they could fit, including their own pockets.   
  
“Do me a favor and grab some of those bottles down there for me,” Jesus said. “I'm full up.”   
  
Daryl shined his flashlight down at the bottom shelf. KY Jelly, Astroglide, Wet, Trojan personal lubricant, Equate lubricating jelly.   
  
“Fun night planned?” Daryl asked, pulling open a shoe box and slipping them inside. Aaron and Eric would appreciate it at any rate. And it wasn't like the more “traditional” couples didn't sometimes need it too.   
  
“Fun day,” Jesus corrected, a teasing tone coloring the edges of his words. “If you'll have me.”   
  
Daryl looked over at the fucker, already wearing that smug shit-eating smile he always did. He had a brief mental flash of Paul pinning him against one of the nearly-bare shelves, hiking his knee up onto it and—hell no. Hell. no.   
  
“Ain't interested.”   
  
He hadn't been laid in years, not since he let Shane drag him into the woods at the farm one night and pound the life out of him. He was pretty keen for another fuck and had been for a long-ass time, but not keen enough for Paul fucking Rovia. Asshole probably wasn't even gay. He'd just figured Daryl out and decided to fuck with him like the actual bag of dicks that he was.   
  
“In me or in general?” Jesus asked.   
  
“Go to hell.”   
  
“You do realize I'm serious, right?”   
  
“Serious about pissin me off and fuckin with me every ten minutes, maybe.”   
  
“Daryl, you do know I do that because I like you, right?”   
  
“You gonna try to pull that playground bullshit?”   
  
“I don't want to hurt you, and I'm sorry if I have,” Paul said. “You're just kidn of adorable when someone pushes your buttons a little.”   
  
Daryl's anger wavered for a moment before he found it again and white-knuckled the shit out of it.  
  
“What makes you think I'm even...?”   
  
“For starters, you look at Rick like he personally climbed a ladder to hang the stars.”   
  
“Don't wanna talk about Rick right now,” Daryl said. He was still dealing with the fact that the man he loved was waking up every morning now next to someone else. He'd get over it, because that's what he'd always had to do when he fell for someone. But he wasn't there yet, and he sure as shit didn't need a reminder.   
  
“Okay. You look at Aaron like you wouldn't mind so much.”   
  
Daryl felt the heat creeping into his cheeks. The occasional thought or two about Aaron was something he did his best to hide.   
  
“Kind of how you look at me.”   
  
Daryl's nostrils flared and he aimed a hot glare in Paul's direction so fast he was surprised the man didn't catch fire.   
  
Another flash of him gripping gripping a top shelf while he cried out in ecstasy. He chased it away, growling at the image in his head for daring to be there.   
  
“All you are to me is a damn pain in the ass.” And Daryl regretted the words as soon as he said them, because he knew without a doubt that he wasn't going to get a pass on that one.   
  
“That's what the lube is for, Daryl.”   
  
Motherfucker.   
  
“I'd stick my dick in a damn walker's mouth before I'd let you fuck me.”   
  
“That so?” Jesus asked, pulling his bandanna down off his face, his Caribbean blue eyes shining mischievously like he knew something Daryl didn't.   
  
“Mhm.”   
  
“Then why do you have an erection?”   
  
Daryl looked down.   
  
Mother. Fucker.   
  
“Ain't for you,” Daryl said, knowing it was a lie even as it came out. That time, he couldn't stop the flood of lustful thoughts before they went too far, and he knew there was no way Jesus didn't see his cock twitch in his jeans.   
  
“Yes, I can see that.”   
  
“I hate you.”   
  
“No you don't.”   
  
Daryl huffed in frustration, because it was true and it made him even angrier that Paul knew it. God, the man drove him crazy. He wanted to just… just… His cock twitched again while his chest started heaving. Daryl pointed his flashlight at the shopping cart, ripping the lid off the shoe box and grabbing the first bottle his fingers found.   
  
He tossed it hard at Paul's face and watched him snatch it straight out of the air with ease. Hell, in another life they probably could've had one hell of a sideshow act together. Daryl firing his bow at him and Jesus catching the arrows right in front of his own pretty face.   
  
In what other life? Why on earth was he imagining any life with _him_?   
  
“I'm not doing this unless you actually want it,” Paul said.   
  
Daryl looked down at his erection again.   
  
“Kinda hard to say I don't, huh?”   
  
“What your body wants and what you want are two different things.” Paul looked at him, all the teasing looks and smugness gone. “I don't want you to do this because you feel like I backed you into a corner. I want you to want it as bad as I do.”   
  
Daryl's anger waned while he took in the words. He looked up at the other man and found not even a trace of emotion that wasn't serious. He meant it when he said he wanted Daryl. He also meant it when he said he didn't want to push him, not this time, not for this. And there was no way in hell Daryl was going to be able to walk his ass out of that supermarket without letting the other man have him.   
  
Son of a bitch.   
  
“That futon display in the furniture section look comfortable to you?” Daryl asked.   
  
“Not even a little, but those roll up mattress pads did.”   
  
“Our secret?”   
  
Paul looked at him just long enough to smirk, and then he took off running, flying down the aisles with Daryl on his heels. He had no idea why he chased him or why it felt like a race, but it did. They skidded around corners, weaving around empty boxes and abandoned shopping carts until they slid to a halt in the bedding section. Daryl chalked up losing to the other man having a head start.   
  
“Take off your pants, and please, please tell me you're a bottom.” Paul ripped a box off the shelf, tearing into the cardboard and pulling out a six inch thick mattress pad that he spread out on the floor. Then he grabbed Daryl's flashlight from his hand next, and turned it off, setting it on the shelf next to his own that he left on, shining across the aisle and casting them both in dim yellow light.   
  
“If I wasn't?” Daryl asked, working on his jeans while Jesus stripped off his trench coat and let it fall on the dusty linoleum.   
  
“We'd make due.”   
  
“Make due how?”   
  
“Like this.” As soon as Daryl had his pants off, Paul grabbed him, maneuvering him down onto the ground like he was twice the size he was and Daryl was made of feathers. Daryl had just long enough to raise an eyebrow to express how impressed he was when Jesus pushed his hips down, rutting against Daryl in a way that made him bite his lip. “But you are though, right?” Paul asked, looking down at Daryl while he rocked their bodies together. “I'm usually pretty good at guessing.”  
  
“Put your fingers in my ass and find out, pretty boy.”   
  
Jesus chuckled.   
  
“I'd rather do this first.” He leaned down and claimed Daryl's mouth with his own. Wrapping an arm around the other man's back, Daryl moaned into his mouth even while he tried to think of a way to categorize the way Paul Rovia kissed him. It wasn't like Shane's, hot and sloppy and full of destructive dominance, nor was it like the kiss he'd managed to steal from that guy Martinez back during the prison days, heated and needy and tasting like shared cigarettes.   
  
Paul kissed him a little like he imagined Rick would have in some other universe where he actually wanted Daryl back. There was passion and lust, all with an undercurrent of quiet dominance. It was the kiss of a man who had nothing to prove because he already had a million times over.   
  
Shane kissed like a tornado. Martinez kissed like rain. Paul Rovia kissed like quiet thunder rolling in the distance, leaving Daryl breathless and anxious for the storm to come.   
  
“Good Lord,” Daryl sighed quietly, not meaning to really say it to anyone but himself. Hell, he hadn't meant to say out loud at all.   
  
“Not so bad yourself.” Paul reached over Daryl's shoulder for his trench coat, pulling it to him and finding the bottle of lube Daryl had thrown at him stashed in a pocket next to three boxes of Hello Kitty band-aids.   
  
“You still sure about this?” he asked.   
  
“If I wasn't before, I would be now.”   
  
“Watch it before you give me an ego,” Paul teased.   
  
Daryl snorted.   
  
“You mean before it gets any bigger and won't fit in the car on the way home?”   
  
“Don't worry, Daryl,” Paul said, eyes glittering while he focused on slicking up his fingers. “I'm really good at fitting things in tight spaces.”   
  
Jesus Christ. Or maybe just Jesus in this instance.   
  
“Wanna shut up and put your hands where your mouth ain't.”   
  
“My mouth might be willing if you ever took a shower.”   
  
“I took one last week,” Daryl grumbled.   
  
“When?”   
  
“I don't know. Tuesday. Jesus. You gonna fuck my ass with those or not?”   
  
“Now, when you say Jesus...”   
  
“For fuck's sake.”   
  
“Easy,” he said, shifting their bodies so he could reach his hand up between Daryl's thighs. Daryl felt one of his slick fingers press against his hole, and he moved his hips to rub against it. Jesus smirked and raised his eyebrows.   
  
“So you're not just a bottom,” Paul said, massaging at Daryl's entrance. “You're a fun bottom.”   
  
“The hell's that mean?” Daryl asked, pushing toward the other man's hand while he worked on worming one of his digits inside of him.   
  
“Means you don't just like it. You love it.”   
  
“Love it more if you'd hurry the hell up.”   
  
“And one of those too.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“Nothing,” Paul said, pushing his finger the rest of the way inside. Daryl tensed a little at the stretch even while he sighed quietly in relief. “Just consider me an admirer.”   
  
“Might could admire you back if you'd stop being such a prick.”   
  
“I'll think about it,” Jesus said, finding Daryl's prostate with expert precision. He rubbed it in soft circles with just enough pressure to make the hunter moan softly, the sound barely audible even in the abandoned store.   
  
“Can do two now,” Daryl said, rocking his body into the other man's motions.   
  
“You sure?”   
  
“Ain't gonna break.”   
  
“We wouldn't be here if I thought you were fragile.”   
  
“Prove it.”   
  
Paul slipped a second finger in, hooking and moving his digits in and out of Daryl's body, scissoring them to stretch him open while he teased them over the spot Daryl liked to be touched most.   
  
“Now we're talkin.” Daryl groaned quietly.  
  
“Are we?” Jesus asked, slipping in a third.   
  
“Kiss me, asshole.”   
  
Paul smiled and leaned down to comply, fucking Daryl with his fingers while he gave him another stormy kiss that made the hunter's blood pump faster in his veins all while robbing it of oxygen. And damn if he couldn't help but daydream just a little about waking up to a man who would kiss him like that every damn day. It would almost make life in that apocalyptic hellhole worth living.   
  
“Fuck,” he groaned softly, body rocking gently while Jesus worked him inside, rubbing and massaging and thrusting and rubbing.   
  
“Ain't fair,” Daryl said.   
  
“What isn't?”   
  
“Made me take my pants off and yours are still on.”   
  
“That a hint?”  
  
“Only if you take it.”   
  
“Oh, I don't think I'll be the one taking anything today.” Slick fingers slipped out of Daryl's ass, leaving him feeling wet and empty and needy. His eyes had adjusted well enough by then to make out Jesus working on getting some of his clothes out of the way, the distinct sound of a zipper making the hunter swallow hard.   
  
Thoughts warred in his head. He was finally going to get laid. He potentially had a crush on someone new. He would probably want to kill that crush again by the end of the day. And he was more than likely about to have some of the best sex of his life.   
  
The lube bottle clicked open, and Daryl watched the other man rub slick up and down his cock. The hunter did his best to breathe evenly, but when Paul let out a soft moan at the feeling of him stroking himself, Daryl very nearly choked on the air in his lungs.   
  
No one who ran around with the nickname “Jesus” should be allowed to make sounds that sinful.   
  
Paul maneuvered himself between Daryl's legs, guiding his erection until it butted up against Daryl's entrance.   
  
“Are you ready?”   
  
“Been ready, slowpoke.”   
  
Jesus kissed him again while he eased inside.   
  
Daryl's eyes flew wide before slamming shut, and he tried to focus on kissing Paul back over any other feeling. The initial slide had always been weird to him—uncomfortable but so wanted, a relief but one that made his muscles tense.   
  
Paul was an expert though. He took it easy, moving slowly while he waited for the hunter's body to accept him, occupying himself with stroking Daryl's tongue with his own in the interim. It was a far cry from any of the men Daryl had been with before, men who took what they wanted, used his body how they liked, and walked away like it had never happened when they were finished.   
  
Funny how he'd never questioned that being the way sex worked for people until just then.   
  
Paul moved his lips from Daryl's to his jaw, kissing along the line of bone to suck on the skin below the hunter's ear lobe. Sighing softly into the other man's ear, Daryl let out a quiet moan when he felt him start to move, rolling his body to move in and out of his ass.   
  
“Fuck.”   
  
“That's the idea.”   
  
Ghosting his hands down Daryl's sides, Jesus found his outer thighs and gripped them tightly. Daryl bit his lip, groaning quietly when he felt Paul start to build the pace, thrusting in and out of his body with the rhythm of a ticking clock. Wordlessly, he used his grip on Daryl's body to shift him, altering the angles just enough that the hunter's breath caught five or six times on the way in.   
  
“Jesus,” Daryl groaned, and he didn't mean him, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore except how it felt to be fucked by Paul Rovia.   
  
“That's right.” The other man thrust faster, and then he slowed down and sped back up again. Fast, fast, slow, fast, slow, slow, fast. Daryl wrapped one arm around him, grabbing a handful of long hair with the other and knocking off Paul's beanie in the process.   
  
“Harder. Fuck, please.” The constant changes in pace were killing him, building him up over and over without ever letting him latch on to a thread that would take him all the way.   
  
“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Jesus moved his grip up Daryl's thighs to his hips, digging fingertips back into the flesh there and shifting both of them until he had them at an angle that let him pound Daryl relentlessly, which was exactly what he did, the sounds of their flesh clapping together seeming much too loud in the desolate silence of the store.   
  
“Fuck, fuck,” Daryl moaned, writhing and bucking back against Paul's cock. Daryl leaned up, grabbing the other man by the back of the neck and kissing him again. He wanted to lose himself in everything Paul had to give him, and damn't he was gonna.   
  
The feeling of fingers wrapping around his cock made him pull back, his mouth slacking open inches from the other man's.   
  
“Ain't… I'm...”   
  
“Use your words, Daryl.”   
  
“Gonna cum.”   
  
“Good. That's what I was going for.” Paul worked him over faster with his hand and his cock. Daryl's head whipped to one side and then the other, his hands pounding down onto the mattress pad before digging in. He was close, so close. He just wanted one more thing. One more thing and he'd let go.   
  
He found Paul's lips again, mouthing at them the best he could, unable to concentrate on much of anything because everything was happening too much. Somehow, the other man still managed to kiss him back with skill. How he could even think to do it blew Daryl's mind, but maybe it was instinct to him. Maybe he was just that good.   
  
Either way, it was what Daryl wanted, and when Paul gave him a firm upstroke that matched up perfectly with a deadly accurate thrust, Daryl moaned his orgasm into the other man's mouth, twitching it out onto the front of his shirt, which he immediately cursed himself for leaving on. Paul must have been waiting for him too, because as soon as Daryl's cock had finished pumping out his release, Jesus threw his head back and groaned toward the ceiling, his own release filling Daryl's hole and leaking out onto the mattress pad when he pulled out.   
  
Paul flopped onto his back next to the hunter, both of them panting and sweating and smelling like a whorehouse. Daryl closed his eyes and caught his breath.   
  
“Well I have to say this day's going better than I expected.”   
  
“Yeah, don't ruin it by talkin,” Daryl said, sitting up and pulling his pants back on. He looked down at his shirt, covered in drying streaks that were unmistakable even in the dim light. “Might need to make a quick stop in the men's department.”  
  
“I can get that out if you want to keep it.”   
  
“Nah, ain't worth it,” Daryl said. “Not when there's a hundred more like it hangin there collecting dust.”  
  
“Actually,” Jesus said, looking down and examining his own shirt.   
  
“Yep.”   
  
They hurried their way through the shirt left hanging on the racks, leaving their soiled garments on the floor, and then they set to the task of packing up the car. And Paul might have been saying it to tease him at the time, but he hadn't lied about being good at fitting things in. He stacked the back of the SUV full with all the expertise of a Tetris champion. They didn't have to leave a single thing behind.   
  
“Home then?” he asked, smiling at Daryl and looking perfectly sex-drunk doing it.   
  
“Mhm.”   
  
Daryl started the car, pulling it out of the parking lot and turning toward Alexandria. Beside him, Jesus tore through shrink rap and plastic. The hunter turned just in time to watch him slip a disc into the player.   
  
“I swear to your dad.”  
  
“Relax,” Paul said, holding up the case so Daryl could see it right as the first notes of “You Shook Me All Night Long” filtered out of the speakers. _Classic Rock Hits of the 70s and 80s Vol 2.  
  
_ Daryl didn't say a word, settling instead for reaching over and cranking the volume knob up. He drove on, and when Jesus started singing that time, he had to fight his face to keep from smiling like an idiot, chewing on his lip while his cheek muscles twitched.   
  
They got back to Alexandria right at dusk, parking the car at Olivia's to let her inventory and split everything out between the communities. As soon as he'd parked, Daryl slipped off and headed home, leaving the other man with the fun task of explaining everything to her that needed explaining. Daryl might not have hated him anymore, but he still had to give a little hell back where he got it.   
  
When Paul found him again an hour later, Daryl was sitting on the steps of his house smoking a pilfered cigarette.   
  
“Is this one yours?” he asked, joining Daryl on the steps.   
  
“Mhm.”   
  
“Just you?”   
  
“Is now,” Daryl said. Jesus didn't pry. “Shouldn't you be getting loaded up?”   
  
“Is there a point?” he asked. “It'll take Olivia tonight and most of tomorrow to sort through everything we brought back.”   
  
Daryl grunted in agreement.   
  
“She was kind enough to offer me her couch,” Jesus said.   
  
“She's good people.”   
  
“But I thought I'd come see if you had room instead.”   
  
Daryl put his cigarette out on the porch railing and flicked it into the yard before turning to look at him.   
Jesus shrugged, smiling softly and giving a Daryl a look that seemed to say, “the ball's in your court now so do what you want with it.” The implications of what the other man was asking were more than obvious, and it made the blood in Daryl's veins feel like electrical wires, quietly humming and vibrating beneath his skin.   
  
The hunter sniffed and stood up, grabbing the crossbow he'd left leaning against the wall of the house.   
  
“You swipe a bottle?” Daryl asked.   
  
“I swiped three.”   
  
He opened the front door and looked back at Paul Rovia, finding the other man on his feet leaning casually against the railing, his robin egg eyes bright with a smile and his trench coat flapping gently in the breeze.   
  
Sighing in resignation, Daryl stepped inside.   
  
“Get your ass in here.” 


End file.
